Holy Week Reflections
by Angel of the North
Summary: From the point of view of Mary M, reflections on Holy Week.


Reflections for Holy Week and Easter  
Sunday, Monday, Tuesday  
, Wednesday, Wednesday Evening, Thursday Afternoon, Thursday Evening, Friday - Dawn, Morning  
, Afternoon, Saturday - Afternoon, Evening. Sunday Morning. Sunday  
  


The shouts are still ringing in my ears, and it's two hours since the crowd dispersed. I can't believe that he went and did that - the Rabbi, bold as brass borrows this donkey, and rode into Jerusalem. I mean, if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, would you believe it? And get this - not surrounded by diplomats and kings, but a load of galilean fishermen. US!? Consorts to Him? 

You wouldn't credit it - here he was all doom and gloom last week, and now look at him. Centre stage and being chased by crowds like he's the person to be seen with. 

It was strange - I don't think I'd do it again. It was scary, being the focus for the mob like that. They were the ones dictating the pace, letting us move through them, instead of us being able to move at will. Peter thought he could get used to this and Judas agreed with him. Lots of money for the coffers today - think how much we'll be able to do if this is the reception we get everywhere we go. Jesus - he's a celebrity now, everyone listens to him. 

We're going to the temple in a minute, make our preparations for Passover. The other women went there already. It's amazing - all these people, coming to touch me, just because i know Jesus, and everyone's saying he's the new king, he's going to kick the Romans.

He's still my friend though. He still wants to know me. "Mary" he says "It won't always be this way." He doesn't look like he's enjoying it - I'm sure there's a few more grey hairs than there used to be. We didn't talk while he went to return the donkey. He seemed glad of the peace and quiet before going to the temple. I think he's planning something. 

  
Monday  


We went to the markets this morning. Peter wanted a new garment, and John needed some fruit or something. The Rabbi just watched, somewhat amused as we ducked in and around the stalls as everyone was preparing for passover.

We heard the stall holders offering discounts on lamb and herbs, and others offering flour and candles. The stall holders seemed a little more expensive than usual, with it being the coming holiday, and in the heat of Jerusalem we wanted to get a bit of peace and quiet.

The pool at the sheep-gate was busy as usual, and we watched as people passed us by, some recognising Jesus from the ride in yesterday, others barely giving us a second glance.

A couple of times someone stopped him and asked for healing, or for a parable. He'd stop for as long as they needed, ignoring the fact that it was a hot dusty day, and the noise that was all around us. 

He's not a small man, our Jesus. No mistaking the fact that he's the child of the carpenter. Yet somehow the kids all feel safe around him. He teases them with his latest collection of jokes, and in good spirits we return to the temple. 

I don't think I've ever seen someone get so angry so quickly. We walked into the temple courts and found that the market atmosphere extended even to here. Some of the others muttered about the fact that it was meant to be a house of prayer, and that the prices on the market were better than that in the temple. Jesus stood at the edge of the group for a moment, oblivious to the crowds eddying around him. Then suddenly he starts upending the tables in the temple. The voices cease, aside from Judas's who says "You really don't want to be doing that, Jesus." James tells him he's being a spoil-sport while Jesus stares at him for a minute, and carries on, telling everyone that this is meant to be a house of prayer, and quoting every law in Leviticus about how one treats the alien and the guest. 

Peter and Andrew are all for joining in the mayhem, once they realise what he's on about. Even Thaddeus, who wouldn't normally address a mouse, is getting wound up. 

It's a race as to whether they can complete it before someone heavy arrives, but some thing's seem to be working in their favour. As I leave, I overhear a couple of the priests talking ominously, and make a note to tell them all later. Not the most auspicious beginning to the week. 

  
Tuesday  


  
We spent today preparing the house we're staying in for Passover. Mary bar Anna, Mary-and-Martha, Salome and I spent the morning going over every inch, brushing out the room, mostly chatting over the events of the last few days. Mary-mum was looking rather tired out after the last few days, and took a few minutes to take a drink of water. She was worried about Jesus - for all that he was thirty-three, a rabbi and a travelling preacher, she still liked to keep an eye on her boy. 

"He doesn't seem quite right. First there was the other Mary anointing him on Shabbat last, then all of a sudden, he's riding into the city like some sort of king, and turning over the temple, and now he's talking about all these weird things, like he expects not to be here, and yet he's making plans for after the passover." 

I nodded. Mary-mum in full fret didn't happen very often - she's one of these really tranquil people, the opposite of me in fact - and I just let it ride. She realised we'd lost a temple shekel, and spent an hour looking for it, joking about how right he'd been about us women fussing over one missing coin. She told me it was based on when he was a little boy, and money was tight. I laughed - I never think of Jesus having been a little boy. I don't think of him being anything other than what he is - lively, intelligent with a wicked sense of humour at times. Like when the boys came back, treading mud over our nice clean floor. They were telling us about how these Greeks had come up and wanted to talk to Jesus. Unusually Jesus wasn't enjoying the joke. He seemed distracted, and didn't notice how they'd played whispers, passing up the hierarchy. 

Philip and Andrew came over to me later, asking me if I knew what was going on. Jesus had been arguing in the temple, far more sharply than usual, and was somewhat distant. We concluded it was to do with all the attention he was getting. 

The boys were pretty good - they swept up after themselves, albeit only when Jesus himself picked up a broom, and started on the step, removing all the camel much they'd brought in. 

Later Jesus came to talk to me after the rest had gone to bed. He was worried about Mary-mum, and asked if I'd make sure she had somewhere to stay. I nodded, and he seemed pleased. I asked him about the day, and the distraction came back. For someone that had been acclaimed king the other day, he was very subdued, like there was a lot to be getting on with. 

He gave me a hug, and said thanks, before leaving the house to pray for a couple of hours. Alone. 

  
Wednesday 

Jesus was tired that day. The others went out into the city, and we stayed in the cool house, avoiding the heat of the day and the raucous cries of the city. Soldiers were on the streets as well, patrolling for the least sign of trouble. 

He'd cut himself on his way back from wherever he went last night, and only now let me clear it up. I found the myrrh, and tended to him, while he joked about how the physician needed to heal himself. 

I put the ointments away, and he asked if we needed anything. I suggested we drop by the market on the way back from the temple. He nodded, and then sat down with his head in his hands. 

Presently, he looked up at me, and said something strange. "No matter what happens, please believe that I haven't abandoned you. I have a job to do, I have to do what I came here for. There's a favour I need to ask you - you and John. Will you take care of mum for me? I haven't asked him yet, but would that be OK." I nodded, not really understanding what he was getting at.

He paced the room for a few minutes, and then talked as he walked, explaining how there were things that had to happen, things that his father wanted of him. He looked at me once, to see if I understood. I'm not sure if I did, but nodded anyway. He seemed satisfied, and sat down again. 

Eventually we headed out of the house to join the others. Veronica caught up with us, and we walked to the temple together, relying on Jesus to part the crowds for us through the city. She giggled, saying that it was like Moses and the Red Sea. Jesus stopped abruptly at that, and then smiled, and I remembered what he'd said about Abraham. He was so much older at that point - a timelessness about his demeanour that belied his age. 

Outside the temple, we were stopped by a greek, who wanted to know all about Jesus. The man himself seemed to be invisible, so we spent a good few minutes talking to him. He kept on getting the stories muddled up, so, patiently, Veronica explained them, how Jesus had healed all of us. He seemed impressed, especially when he heard the story of how this was the first time she'd been able to celebrate passover properly in years, because she'd been unclean before now. I left them to talk, and looked around. Jesus was in his element, surrounded by the pharisees and sadduccees, talking. He flipped a coin in his hand, a mischievous look in his eyes, and I was reminded of the story mary-mum tells about him twenty years ago, sitting in the temple, bold as brass, arguing the hind leg off a donkey. 

What he said was obviously a crowd pleaser, because there were murmurs of appreciation from the crowd. The pharisees however didn't seem so happy. Soldiers were at the temple gates, wary of this man who'd ridden into Jerusalem on a donkey. 

I watched as offerings were presented - wave offerings and sacrifices. And suddenly I began to understand.

  


  
Wednesday night 

  
We celebrated the Seder last night, just the women - the room that the Rabbi found is really nice, but it won't fit twenty-six adults easily.  
We laughed as we tried to work out who the youngest was, and therefore who should answer the questions. Mary-mum was teasing Jesus, and telling him how he'd known the answers even before she'd told him the stories. He nodded and said "but of course - it is fitting I should know the tales of my people." The agelessness was back - as he read from the Haggadah, one got the feeling that he had been there, that he was telling it from experience, rather than simply reading from the book.

We dipped our foods together, all of us. He said it was appropriate, because we would all be sharing our sorrows, as well as our laughter. It chilled me, and reminded me of what we'd bought - not just the maror, but aloes, herbs, and grave clothes. He'd seemed detached, unable to actually say anything, just watched as I folded up the square of cotton that would cover His face, and put it in my bag for him to carry. He hadn't told anyone else so directly - the penny hadn't dropped for them, that it was going to happen. I didn't understand how or why. He'd been in the temple several times since monday, and no one had complained. The Romans hadn't seemed any more bothered by us than usual. Maybe it was all a dream. We focused again on the moment, on how we were going to celebrate the first two nights of passover.

The meal ended around midnight, with all of use returning to our respective places. He and I walked together, and then he left us to join some of the men, and to pray at Gethsemane. Ignoring every ounce of propriety, I followed him. The strain was showing in his face, and he was agitated: alternately shouting at his father, or burying his face in his hands.

They walked back slowly - Galilean fishermen and a carpenter's son, a ,tax collector a doctor, and sundry others who might be considered somewhat disreputable.

The seder had been different somehow. He'd passed around the Matzo and cup as if the ritual was personal to him, and then taken a second cup, of water. "It is fitting to remember the women of the exodus, as well as the men." He talked about Miriam's well, and how she'd looked after her brother so carefully. His sleeve caught the wine, and it spilled on the table. Salome moved to clean it up. His tone was deceptively light "My bones may break as easily as Matzo, and my blood spilled like so much wine, but we share bonds of love and friendship that may be the only things left to us. Love one another as you have been loved."

He embraced each of us - even those that had been unclean. We chattered, rather than laughed. So different from the agitation later in the evening. He asked us not to tell the men what he had planned for the second night of passover- they needed to learn to trust him. We smiled, and agreed, but his smile no longer seemed able to meet his eyes. 

  
Thursday Afternoon.Peter was being rather obtuse today. I think someone had called him on being hot-headed, and he didn't like it very much.  
He sulked for a couple of hours, and came to find me so that we could go for a walk. He was worried about Jesus - we all were. The preaching had been about ten foolish virgins today. Peter joked that we obviously weren't foolish - we were stocked up like there was a famine coming. 

We ran into a pharisee in the garden, by the name of Saul. He was studying and praying, a scroll in front of him. He recognised us as being part of Jesus' group, and asked us about him. Judas, who had joined us, seemed to know him from the temple, and happily chatted to him, while Peter and I stood back, it not being seemly for a woman to talk to a teacher like that.

Judas seemed pleased with himself, which is unusual. Normally he's a quiet chap, tending to the money, and keeping himself to himself. He'll let the others do the talking, and I was surprised to see him so animated.

The three of us stayed in the garden after Saul left, staring out across the city. For once Peter and Judas weren't fighting - Peter is the impulsive one, who wears his heart on his sleeve, and gets into trouble for it. Judas is the careful one, always trying to do the right thing, keeping his nose clean. Jesus had sent some of them off to find the place they were eating the Seder. True to our word, we hadn't said a thing and watched their confused little faces as they dodged through the city.

We said our prayers together. Peter emphasising "forgive us our sins" while Judas seemed more emphatic about "Thy kingdom come". The rhythm of the words lulled us, and we said the psalms of ascent as we walked, letting the familiar words wash over us.

I saw Jesus, on his own again, by the spring. I kept the boys firmly facing the opposite direction, and we headed into the city to prepare for what was to come.  
  


Thursday Evening  
Judas and Peter are missing, Mark came running in naked, and the guards have arrested Jesus. I don't understand what's going on, but I'm not all that worried. Either its what he's been prophesying all week, and he's going to die, or he's going to be released, because there are no charges that can be made to stick, unless riding into Jerusalem on a donkey is now a crime punishable by the authorities.  
  
At least that's what I'm telling myself. Mary-mum is frantic in her calm sort of way, only the way she twists her fingers in her hair is giving her away. Mark keeps on running into the other room every time there's a tap at the door, just in case its the garrison.  
  
Mary, james' mother, finds Mark a spare garment, and tells him to put it on. The others come back in dribs and drabs, finding space to sit any which way they can make it. From what I gather, the meal wasn't what they were expecting. They've got spots of blood on their clothes - apparently Peter pulled a sword on someone, having been told not to - and then Jesus was taken away, having been kissed by Judas.  
  
Matthew starts to pace, something difficult to do when there's people to tread on. He starts talking about what we're going to do, and explains that it's Pilate's custom to release a prisoner on festivals. We're to meet there around dawn, and try and draw on the support we had last sunday. John shakes his head, like it's a hopeless cause, and then replies that it can't be that bad, that the Sanhedrin can't kill Jesus, can they?  
  
Silence. Jesus knows Caiaphas and the others. He talks to them in the temple. There's no reason they'd do that to him. They probably just wanted to talk to him, away from the crowds.  
  
Mark's sleeping in the corner now, poor lad. The rest of us envy him. Andrew's shaggy head is bowed - he's worried about his brother. They promise to tell me the whole story later, once this mess is sorted out. Without Jesus, no one's really sure quite what to do. Plans are made, and then rejected, and everyone is muttering, unwilling to stand up and be heard.  
  
  
Friday - DawnPeter and Judas still aren't back, and Andrew is really worried. He disappeared off into Jerusalem with a couple of others, hoping to find him.  
  
The crowds are already about, scenting the likely execution of several criminals. We must have been split up, or no-one got the message, because there's hardly any of us here, and the crowd feels hostile, like they want to see blood spilt.  
  
While we wait, James and John tell me what happened last night. They sat down to Seder last night, but it wasn't what they expected. The meal wasn't about the past any more, but about what was going on, here and now. The lamb wasn't one they'd purchased, it was Jesus himself, the wine was his blood. They weren't sure what to make of it. He'd talked for a long time, interspersed among the usual rituals of passover, and then headed out to Gethsemane, as was his wont.   
He'd told Peter that he would betray him three times before the cock crowed. Not having seen Peter, we didn't know whether he had or not, or even what that meant.  
What was more worrying was Judas. That they did know about. Jesus had said someone would betray him, and indicated that it would be Judas. Apparently, there'd been quite a buzz of conversation, like naughty school-boys who were saying "not me, not me". Judas had left, and then re-joined them at Gethsemane, with some guards, and then they'd arrested Jesus.  
  
I felt sick. Judas had done this. No wonder he'd disappeared. But Peter? for all his impetuousness, he was so solidly one of Jesus' own, that I couldn't believe it. I didn't want to believe it.   
  
Before we could talk about it, Pilate came out, and announced that he would let one of the prisoners go free, and one would be crucified.  
And the crowd shouted "Barabbas".  
  
Friday - MorningThey're going to kill him.  
Jesus: Rabbi, teacher, and friend is going to die.  
  
They are going to kill him, because someone raised a mob and decided they wanted to see the carpenter's son from Galilee with nails through his wrists.  
They are going to kill him because it's politically expedient for the Romans and the Sanhedrin.  
They are going to kill him because it's in some prophecy somewhere.  
They are going to kill him because he's taking the place of those that deserve it.  
  
They're not killing him because he's guilty.  
They're making a mockery of him. Crown of thorns, purple robe, and being shoved through the streets of Jerusalem like every other thug and convict ever bought to justice.  
It's not supposed to be like this. He's done nothing wrong, and now we've got to deal with this. Mary-mum is in shock. She isn't saying anything, just standing there in an empty square, staring at the place she last saw her son.  
He looked at us, and bowed his head, barely recognisable as the vibrant preacher from Galilee. His eyes are full of shadows and tears. His hands are bound tightly behind his back.  
And he's alone.  
Veronica waits on the path to Golgotha, hoping to catch a glimpse of him. Most of us go straight to the hill, unable to find a place in the crowds, set apart from the world.  
The authorities are playing with him, like a cat butchering a mouse, stroking the whip on his skin like claws dragged through flesh.  
Pilate had the nerve to wash his hands, saying he wanted nothing more to do with it.   
He stumbles as he walks, exhausted.   
I can't watch any more, and run away.  
  
They're going to kill him, because a friend betrayed him with a kiss.   
  
  
Friday Afternoon  
He's gone.  
  
The Rabbi from Galilee died at 3 o'clock this afternoon, on a cross at the edge of Jerusalem, with the plaque "Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews" above his head.  
  
John took Mary-mum to Bethany, where she's staying with Lazarus and his sisters. Judas and Peter are still missing. And now we have to take our spices, and prepare the body for burial.  
  
Even now, we are surprised by the kindness of strangers. Joseph, from Arimathea, offered us the loan of his tomb, and we're now going back to the house to get the oils and spices that he and I bought at the market on wednesday.  
  
We return, as they're taking down the body, and between us we carry it away from them. The centurion's head is bare as he does so, watching us keenly, and wanting to know what is going on. They've heard all sorts of wild rumours, and focus on one fact, that the prisoner is dead.  
  
The body. It's still soft, and warm, in spite of the cool darkness that surrounded us until an hour ago. The men are hiding somewhere, unwilling to be the next victim of the garrison, leaving us to do the work.  
  
Salome has some water and cloths, and we bathe the naked body, taking away the patina of blood and sweat and dirt from his skin.  
I can't believe that the corpse in front of us is the man that we knew so well. A man who, in agony, was able to remember to look after his mother.  
  
The worst words in any language "Your child is dead" and we're saying them to Mary. About Jesus. About the kid she brought up, and weaned, and took to the temple, and taught, and laughed with. The young man who worked as a carpenter, until he took to the roads of Palestine. Now he lies in front of us, cool to the touch, denuded of blood, and covered in a shroud.  
  
Each of us takes turns, each doing a different job, working with the myrrh and aloes, dipping our fingers in the pots of bitter herbs. It's nearly sundown, and time to begin the celebrations for Shabbat. Gradually the others leave, and I'm left alone.  
  
I find the cut that I tended the other day, half healed, on the palm of his hand, and I realise that it's never going to get any better. That there's no point in washing it down, because it's not going to infect, and it's not going to cause him pain, because Jesus is not in this body any more, and he can't feel what we're doing to it.  
  
I carry on with my work, winding the grave clothes round his body, until I reach the wound in his side.  
  
And I lose it "You shouldn't be dead, Jesus. You ought to be here, with us now. Why couldn't you get off your cross, and come home. I'm supposed to be cleaning cuts and talking about how daft the men are being, we're supposed to be preparing for Shabbat, and I'm stuck in this tomb, wrapping you in linen, and wondering how I'm going to be home in time, and who's going to light the candles. Mary mum's devastated - why did you have to die, Jesus? What about her, were you even thinking about her? About us?  
  
"Judas and Peter have disappeared, you're lying here, unable even to talk to me, and I'm screaming at you because I don't know what to do. We were friends, and you left us.  
  
"Where are those people now? the ones that cheered you into Jerusalem? Celebrating the fact that there was another good execution today.   
I paused, and placed the final grave cloth on his face. The soldier mutters impatiently, and moves to seal the tomb. I carry on talking as I walk down the hill, tears refusing to fall.  
  
"At some level, i know why you did this, why this has happened. But I wish it didn't have to be today."  
  
Saturday Afternoon  
  
Well, we found Judas.  
  
More accurately, Philip found him, walking out slightly more than is allowed on Shabbat, trying to escape the cloud that covers us.  
  
We'd been sitting around the house, watching the door - waiting for soldiers, wishing for Jesus, hoping for friends. Grief unshared hung like a cloud over the room, each of us feeling the others unable to comprehend our own isolation.  
  
Andrew was worried about his brother, and half-angry about everything, to the point he shook his shaggy head and said "I'll kill him" and then "I shouldn't have said that."  
Tears flowed freely down his face, that of a weatherbeaten fisherman, and it was more than Mary could take. She walked over and gave him a hug. He'd lost his Lord, he'd lost his brother, and he'd lost his friend, in that he was the closest to Judas of all of us.  
Mary sat with him, all five feet of her wrapped protectively round the giant just as she would her own sons.  
  
James and John looked at each other, and started to say the prayers for shabbat. It was John that spoke to the surprised group.  
"We should keep going, doing as he taught us, or else the last three years was for nothing. We shouldn't forget."  
  
We joined in from where we were, making the familiar petitions and confessions, until it came to the point where we had to praise God. And we couldn't do it. We couldn't say thank you for taking Jesus away.  
  
That was when Philip walked out, to get a breath of fresh air. It was four hours later when he came back, his face a grim line. The men left to look at the body, unsure of what to do.  
  
They couldn't leave him to hang, but to take him down would be to do work on the sabbath. In the end they took the dictum "sabbath was made for man, and not man for the sabbath," and took him down, laying him in a nearby cave.  
  
Apparently some of them wanted to leave him hanging, while the rest thought that they at least owed him the benefit of whatever doubt existed. They'd lost so much already, and that prevailed.  
One kept watch, while the others laid him out.  
  
They came back to the house, and as dusk fell we walked out to Gethsemane, where we sat and prayed together, men and women, man and child. Andrew caught sight of a movement, and, thinking we were being spied on, six of them ran to catch him.  
  
The chase must have looked funny to a by-stander. 6 full grown men, chasing another, dishevelled and disreputable looking, all the way to the city. Finally Nathaniel caught him, and he spun him round, hangdog expression and all.  
And Andrew ran across the square we were standing in, and embraced his brother.   
Saturday Evening  
We sat down together, Peter in the middle, Andrew watching him closely.  
  
"Where's Jesus?" We looked round each other.  
  
"Peter, he's dead."  
  
"Where is he?" Veronica sighed, and answered.  
  
"In Joseph's tomb. We're going up there in the morning, there's a job to finish."  
  
"He can come up with us - they've sealed the tomb, and there's a guard on it. I saw it last night." They look at me, and I look at Peter, who is   
stunned.  
  
"Aren't you going to tell us, Peter? What happened?" Peter looks at his inquisitor who has his hands on his hips. The words are soft, and not intended to be menacing, but he gulped, nodded, and began.  
  
"I've been worried about Jesus for weeks. I mean, we always knew he was special, but until I said he was the Christ, I didn't realise how special. I didn't mean for the words to come out like, I didn't want to get him into trouble or anything." He paused, and took a moment to gather himself.  
  
"So when he told us to bring swords on thursday night, I was worried, and tense, and on edge. He singles out Judas and myself, and I'm worried.  
  
"I didn't mean to say it." He looks round at all of us. "After the meal, the twelve of us went to Gethsemane, and I was tired, and I didn't mean to fall asleep."  
I didn't like this Peter - stricken, scared, so far removed from the occasionally over-confident young man we knew so well, the one that Jesus had told would lead us. All the spirit was gone from him - crushed completely.  
  
"Then the soldiers came, and I panicked, and cut the guy's ear. Jesus sorted it out, and then they arrested him. We, Mark and I, went to the High Priest's House, though Mark fled not long after. Luke was there too, and arranged for us to go in. They, They asked if I knew him, and I said I didn't. I swore I didn't.  
  
"And I was the one that had known him for what he was, seen him as the Christ, and I swore I didn't know him. And then the cock crowed." He wept, and the others seemed surprised at his words.  
  
"You remember how the guards reacted when they asked for Jesus - how they fell down, because Jesus wasn't who they expected. I feel like that. You know what's really bad. I don't get to say that I'm sorry."  
  
"I knew he was dead, but I didn't know where he was. They'd taken him down by the time I got to the cross. Maybe he'll be back. He used to say that he'd go away for a while, and then come back, talked about defeating death." He'd perked up a bit by now.  
  
"And did you hear what else happened? I was in the temple on Friday, and just as the darkness lifted, the curtain in the temple ripped to   
pieces. There was nobody near it. The priests blamed it on old fabric, and stared at it for a good ten minutes. They've probably got a new one up by now."  
  
I wanted to believe him, I really did. I wanted Jesus to come back. But I'd seen the body. I'd treated those wounds, and the Romans don't mess up executions like that.  
  
"He'll come back. He's got to come back. I promised I'd take him fishing." 

  


Sunday Morning  
Dawn comes, and we've been talking all night. Peter is dozing on Andrew, and I'm half-asleep on the floor. The rooster crows, and Peter cringes, shame filling his face again.   


We head for the tomb again, silently walking on the streets of Jerusalem, as the city wakes. Someone is taking sheep for sacrifice down the street which causes us to pause, and another has a camel that we have to avoid.  


As we round the bend we talk about how we're going to move the stone. The question becomes academic pretty quickly. The tomb has been opened, without violence, save for a broken seal.  


The guards are still there, non-plussed. They see us arrive, and accuse us of taking the body. We're too tired, and Joanna points out that we've spent the last two days looking for Peter, and we'd hardly have the time to do that.  


The voices fade out, and we stare at the tomb, Salome, Mary, and I. The cloths are folded, and the tomb is bare. The tears are running down my face, and I can't focus on anything smaller than the rockface now. I don't know how long I stand there, but the other three are gone, and the guards have left to make their report.  


The women have fetched Peter and John. Peter goes into the tomb itself, nosing around for clues. Fear and Joy are in his face, as if there's something about to happen. He says nothing, but moves away. John glances in, seeing as much as he needs, and walks away. Peter comes over to me, and touches my shoulder. I can't stop crying. Ironic, given that last time I was here, I couldn't start crying. He leaves me to go and and report to the others, face empty and unsure. It means he misses out on what happened next. A man came up to me, and asked me why I was weeping. He seemed familiar, but I couldn't place him. It didn't help that I was crying. Footprints in the grass indicated where he'd come from, which was physically impossible.  


Shaking my head, I continue to stare at my feet. It's all too much. Losing Jesus, first to the cross, and now from the tomb, and this man is asking me why I'm crying. I assume he's a gardener, until he calls my name.  
  
"Mary" Some of the fog lifts, and I feel so stupid now.  


"Rabboni." I always take refuge in formalities when I don't know what else to say. I reach out for his hand, but he moves away. I catch sight of his hands, as he motions for me to stay, and I can see the half-healed scar, and somehow that makes it real, that this isn't some ghost or fraud or something unreal. He tells me not to touch him, and then leaves me. All I can do is stare, until the men in white robes appear.  
  
One of them points out the obvious, that he's not here. The other says something about meeting Him in Galilee. Then they two go, and I'm stumbling down the path to Jerusalem, wondering if they're all going to believe me.  


I'm too dazed and confused by now. There's only one thing in my mind. The Son of God has somehow beaten death, walked out of a locked tomb, and back into our lives.  
  
Jesus has returned.  


  
  


  
Back to Christianity pages  


* * *

Notes on the theology of These reflections: 

I am writing it from a woman's viewpoint, rather than that of a feminist, and I have taken a few liberties with the text. The main one is the Seder meal for the women. The ritual with Water is a modern Jewish thing, that I took the liberty of moving back in time.  
As for the women sharing the suffering - the men-folk ask to be involved in the suffering of Christ, in a way that the women don't. Yet it is the women who have the very real sorrow of tending the body of Christ, and would suddenly be feeling very vulnerable, in a way the men wouldn't.  
Mary-mum is the affectionate name for Mary the mother of Christ, something I can see the other marys adopting as a means of distinguishing her from them. Mary M is of course the disciple writing these reflections.

These stories are written as they first appeared on my LJ in April 2003. (c) M M Moules  



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